John Passos - Mr. Wilson's War

The British were at sea again in two days. It was a virtual victory, the London papers said; the Germans suffered a greater relative loss. In America Jutland proved a sobering blow to German and Allied supporters alike.

The grim news, indicating that no conclusion to the European war could be expected in the foreseeable future, was swallowed up in the indigenous distractions of the presidential campaign.

The first week in June Chicago hummed like a beehive. The hotels were crowded with Republican and Bull Moose delegates. The Loop resounded with the brass bands of a “preparedness” parade that filled the streets for eleven consecutive hours. Ten thousand women tramped through the rain in behalf of woman’s suffrage.

The same morning that the Republican convention came to order in the Coliseum with Senator Warren G. Harding of Ohio in the chair, the Progressive Party, with less bunting, but more shouting, started proceedings in the Auditorium. The Bull Moose leaders, deep in private negotiations with a committee appointed by the Republican regulars, wanted to keep their excitable delegates from blowing the lid off and nominating Roosevelt prematurely. At the first mention of his name they cheered for ninetythree minutes. T.R. heard the roaring over his private wire to Sagamore Hill. In spite of the enthusiasm of the crowd he already knew in his heart that this time there would be no miracle.

In March he had cabled from Trinidad to the New York Evening Mail , “It would be a mistake to nominate me unless the country has in its mood something of the heroic, unless it feels not only like devoting itself to ideals, but to the purpose measurably to realize these ideals in action.”

No one knew better than T.R. that by coming out flatfootedly for a war program he had alienated great segments of his supporters. The reformers who had responded to his leadership in earlier campaigns now had very different ideas about how to “realize their ideals in action.” The rural and western Progressives, led by La Follette in Wisconsin and Hiram Johnson in California, were either outright pacifists or sceptical of any headlong involvement in European quarrels. Only the wellconnected Bull Moosers from the financial and industrial centers in the east were for war on the side of the Allies, and they were hard to distinguish from the elements who were working for the nomination of Charles Evans Hughes on the Republican ticket.

Hughes was sincerely reluctant to allow his name to be placed before the Republican convention. He was so conscientious about keeping the Supreme Court out of politics he had even given up voting. Chief Justice White, a frank and garrulous old man in feeble health, had been telling Hughes he would retire soon and that he expected him to be his successor. President Wilson, whose daughters were on friendly terms with the young people of the Hughes family, made it quite clear that if Hughes kept out of the presidential race, and if Wilson were re-elected, he would be the next Chief Justice.

Ex-President Taft’s letters played a large part in convincing Hughes that it was his moral duty to run. It was to Taft that Hughes was beholden for his appointment to the supreme bench. Taft knew that Hughes was a conscientious party man in much the same spirit as he was a conscientious member of the Baptist church.

“… The Democratic party,” Taft wrote him, “is what it has always shown itself to be — the organized incapacity of the country. I am no partisan but I cannot escape this conclusion. The Republican party was split in two in 1912. The great body of Progressives have enrolled themselves again in the party. To retain them however and to win over the others, we must have a candidate who will … stimulate the enthusiasm of both elements and give them confidence in victory … Mr. Roosevelt is thundering. He is a genius. In certain ways he commands my admiration more than he ever did for his genius … But I cannot think it is on the cards for him to win.”

Taft insisted that after his first disappointment T.R. would have to come out in support of Hughes: “… he has put himself in a position which makes it absolutely necessary for him to support you if you are nominated.”

Taft was not alone. From all segments among the Republicans came earnest pleas that shook Hughes’ determination to continue the aloof and carefree life which he so much enjoyed. All the political augurs echoed Taft’s statement: “You will certainly be elected if you accept the nomination.”

Mrs. Hughes, who never concealed her conviction that her husband was a man of destiny, said she wanted to see him President. Hughes felt his resolution slipping, but he knew what the presidency might mean. “When you see me in my coffin,” he told Mrs. Hughes with some bitterness, “remember that I didn’t want to take this burden.”

Voting started on the third day of the conventions. Hughes, who had no personal organization, no throwaways, no badges, no banners, rolled up 253 ½votes on the first ballot against Roosevelt’s 65 among the old guard Republicans at the Coliseum. At the Auditorium the Progressive managers wore themselves out trying to stave off a premature nomination. The “peace committees” trying to reach an agreement behind the scenes were at a deadlock.

When the conventions adjourned the night of June 9 with Hughes still 170 votes short, the Justice, who had been in his study keeping up the pretence of working on his Supreme Court cases, said rather snappishly to his wife, “That settles it. I shall not be nominated. I’m going to bed.”

Next day the regular Republicans put his nomination through. Hughes resigned from the Supreme Court with a note Woodrow Wilson felt was unnecessarily curt, and accepted. The Progressives in desperation nominated Roosevelt.

From the end of his private wire at Sagamore Hill T.R. stalled. He wouldn’t say yes and he wouldn’t say no. He made his refusal of the nomination conditional on the acceptance by Hughes of certain principles.

The convention heard his evasions with “anger, derision and groans.” The New Nationalism falling in ruins about them, Roosevelt’s reformers and conservationists and social workers left Chicago in a bitter mood. Many of them, like Mark Twain’s lawyerfriend Bainbridge Colby, eventually supported President Wilson. Bull Moose was dead.

The Democrats meanwhile were assembling for their convention in St. Louis. Woodrow Wilson had been taking a leaf out of T.R.’s book and attacking hyphenated Americans. The national committee planned to make Americanism the keynote of the campaign. Words and music of all the patriotic songs were furnished to the convention bands. Arrangements were made to wave Old Glory at every opportunity. To the amazement of the backroom leadership their delegates rose to quite different bait.

The Honorable Martin H. Glynn, onetime governor of New York, delivered the keynote address. He had planned to open with an apology for the concessions Woodrow Wilson was forced to make to keep the peace and then to bring the audience to its feet with the eagle screaming for the red, white and blue. He enumerated some ticklish situations, involving American lives and American property, under Washington, Jefferson, Adams, Van Buren, Franklin Pierce …

“When Grant was President a Spanish commander in cold blood shot the captain of the Virginius , thirtysix of the crew and sixteen of the passengers … But we didn’t go to war. Grant settled our troubles by negotiation as the President of the United States is trying to do today.”

To Glynn’s surprise the crowd cheered. Every time he tried to lay aside his list of precedents for peace by arbitration there were shouts of “Give us more.” Glynn warmed to his task. He brought up crisis after crisis. “What did we do?” people roared. “We didn’t go to war,” their voices echoed.